


Not His Keeper

by BreeTaylor



Category: Shameless (US)
Genre: AU, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, M/M, also it's very very different than canon ngl, definitely wrote this for a class so it's a little ooc
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-11-07
Updated: 2016-11-07
Packaged: 2018-08-29 18:47:48
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,777
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8501230
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/BreeTaylor/pseuds/BreeTaylor
Summary: Mickey and Ian had been together since they were barely out of puberty. They'd been through thick and thin, ended up nearly dead a couple of times. They needed each other. But Ian wasn't the same kid anymore, and Mickey was struggling to find reasons to stay with him.





	

Mickey looked at the clock on his phone, then back to the door of his apartment. It was half past three in the morning, and Ian was nowhere to be found. He was supposed to be back from work at one, and despite telling himself he didn’t care what happened to him, Mickey felt himself beginning to worry.

He paced the span of their small kitchen. His fingers tapping on his phone as he waited for it to buzz. Waited for Ian to let him know he wasn’t fucking dead, at the very least. The more time that passed, the angrier Mickey got. When the front door finally clicked open at ten to four, he was fuming.

Ian strolled into the kitchen like it was no big deal, raised an eyebrow at Mickey, and headed immediately for the fridge.

“Where the fuck were you?” Mickey asked.

“Out,” Ian said with a shrug. “I didn’t say I was going to be home right after work.”

“You could’ve called. Texted, at the very least.”

Ian pulled a beer from the fridge, using their already beat up counter to pop the top off. “I’m an adult, Mick.”

“I was worried about you!” he shouted. “You’ve been acting weird lately, and then you just go and disappear on me. I thought… I thought maybe someone had grabbed you or something.”

“You don’t think I could hold my own in a fight?”

“No—maybe—I don’t know!” Mickey threw his hands up, resuming his pacing. “Definitely not if you’re too high to notice what the fuck is going on around you.”

Ian slammed his beer down on the counter. He always got touchy when Mickey brought up the drugs, like maybe he thought it’d go away if he didn’t acknowledge the problem. “You’re not my keeper, Mick.”

“No, I’m not. I’m your boyfriend, and I think I’m allowed to worry about you being out all hours of the night doing god knows what with god knows who.”

“What, jealous?”

“Yes!” Mickey shouted, voice bouncing off the walls. “Yes, I’m fucking jealous that my boyfriend is screwing other guys just because they give him drugs. Yes, I’m fucking jealous that you spend all your time at the damn club instead of here, with me. I miss you, Ian. I miss being with you.

“I don’t know to help you,” Mickey said sadly, “but you need help.”

“I’m just having fun.”

Mickey sighed, “Well, it’s gone too far. I can’t do it anymore.”

“What?”

“I can’t do it,” he shrugged. “I can’t keep sitting here waiting for you to come back to me. I’m not going to let you treat me like this anymore.”

“So, what’re you saying?” Ian asked. “That’s it? Six years, and this is it?”

“Yeah, I guess so,” Mickey said. He waited for Ian to say something, to fight for him. To fight for _them._ When he didn’t, Mickey walked out of the kitchen, packed a bag, and headed for a hotel. He tried to ignore the heavy feeling in his chest, and the regret already seeping into his thoughts. He tried to remind himself that this was for the better, that for once in his life he needed to put himself first.

He tried to remind himself that Ian had changed, and was no longer the man he fell in love with. Still, he hesitated at their front door. He waited for Ian to say something, to _do_ something. When he didn’t, Mickey pulled the door open with a sigh and walked into the chill air of early morning.

Mickey had met Ian when he was eighteen years old, and Ian was sixteen. At that time, he had been just some friend of Mandy’s. At that time, Mickey had thought he was just another dumb guy in her long string of boyfriends. He had hated Ian on principle, because none of these Southside kids deserved his sister. Mickey never expected Ian to be as charming and kind as he was to Mandy. He never once caught him staring at her breasts, or trying to cop a feel. Not once did he walk in on them making out.

Ian was a complete gentleman, and he started growing on Mickey. He spent more time at their house than his own, and the one time Mickey asked why, Ian just shrugged and said, “Shitty family.”

Mickey knew about his family. He knew that he had like five siblings. He knew that his mother was fuck knows where and his father was a useless addict who only came home when he needed a bed and money. Mickey felt for the kid, but wasn’t surprised. It wasn’t all that uncommon on Southside for parents to be AWOL. Sometimes, like in Mickey’s case, it was worse when they were home.

Ian learned this the hard way when Mickey’s father returned from prison just shy of a year after they met. Mandy told him not to come over, but that just made Ian worry more. Thankfully for him, Mickey was the one to open the door when he knocked.

The house boomed with uncharacteristic, and fake, joy behind him. The minute his eyes landed on Ian, his stomach dropped. “What the hell are you doing here?”

“I want to make sure Mandy’s okay,” Ian said.

“She’s fine, now you need to go,” Mickey hissed, glancing over his shoulder at the party still raging behind him. “If my dad sees you he’s going to kill you.”

“Let me in, Mickey,” Ian said, trying to push the door open.

“Are you fucking crazy?” Mickey asked, but it was too late. A heavy hand landed on his shoulder, pulling him backwards as the door was thrown open.

“Who the fuck is this?” his dad asked.

“No one,” Mickey said through a clenched jaw. “He was just leaving.”

“I’m a friend of Mandy’s,” Ian said, like a fucking idiot. Mickey felt his father’s grip on his shoulder tighten.

Mickey had wanted so badly to tell him to fuck off. To tell him to run away and stay away, but his fear of his father was like a foot on his throat. He felt like he could barely breathe, never mind speak. He watched miserably as his father reached out to pull Ian into the house.

“A friend of Mandy’s, eh?” he hissed, his voice like venom. “Is that what they’re calling it nowadays?”

His father continued to pull Ian farther into the house, father into the hazy cloud of smoke and drunkards. Mickey felt like he was going to puke as he trailed behind. His tongue felt like lead in his mouth, preventing him from saying anything as Ian was pulled onto the couch, right between his father and his oldest brother.

“What do you want with my daughter, kid?” his father asked, still retaining his tight grip on the kid’s tiny fucking arm. Mickey could see the panic flash in Ian’s eyes, even as he tried to remain confident and controlled.

“Nothing. We’re just friends.”

“Yeah? Is that right?”

Mickey swore under his breath. He knew exactly where this was going. His dad was protective of Mandy. Not ‘cause he cared about her, but because she was young and pretty. He thought he could use what innocence still remained to his advantage. “Dad, let him go.”

His father spun on him, not letting go of Ian. Shock was evident in his eyes. Mickey didn’t talk back, ever. “What?”

“Let the kid go, he’s just some nerd from school.”

“I’m not gonna let no horny teenage boy hang around my daughter,” his father said darkly. “We need to put this kid in his place; he needs to know that if he so much as lays a hand on my daughter I’ll fucking kill him.”

“I have no intention of doing anything with—or to—your daughter.”

“Why? She not good enough for you?” his father hissed as he turned back to Ian. “You don’t expect me to believe you, do you?”

“She’s not really my type,” Ian said. His eyes drifted over to where Mickey stood.

Mickey’s heart dropped into his stomach. It was such a simple response, yet it felt like a slap in the face as suddenly everything fell into place. The fact that Ian’s eyes never lingered on Mandy, that he never tried to pull anything on her. Instead, his gaze would linger just a little too long on Mickey when he walked out of his room shirtless. Or when he was in the kitchen and Ian thought he wasn’t paying attention. He didn’t spend all his time at their house because he wanted into Mandy’s pants.

He looked at his dad in fear, but he was too stupid, or too drunk, to know what Ian meant. They all were. Still, he knew he had to get the kid the fuck out of dodge before he opened his big mouth again and said something his dad _would_ catch onto. Adrenaline rushed through Mickey’s veins as he pulled Ian’s arm from his father’s grip and started pulling him towards the front door. He had almost made it when his father’s voice boomed behind him, “The fuck do you think you’re taking him?”

“He’s leaving.”

Mickey heard his dad get up and storm over, pulling him back by a fistful of hair. Mickey let go of Ian, hand’s instinctively reaching to claw at his father’s. “He leaves when I say he leaves.”

“Ian, go,” Mickey shouted, twisting in his father’s grip. “Get the fuck out of here, now!"

He didn’t have the chance to say anything else before a fist was colliding with his stomach, knocking the wind out of him. Mickey doubled over, coughing and wheezing. His father forced him to turn around until his back was to the door and he was faced front-on with his father’s wrath. He was vaguely aware of his name being shouted behind him, and then his father’s knee was colliding with his nose. He heard the distinct crack of bone and fell to his knees. He tried to fight back, throwing a punch at his father, but it was returned with more aggression. More punches, until Mickey’s vision blurred and the room went dark. His only salvation had been the knowledge that Ian had gotten out of there, that his father hadn’t had the chance to clue into the one piece of knowledge that would’ve gotten the kid killed.

It was a while before Ian Iane back after that. He wasn’t stupid enough to come over while their father was still around, but it wasn’t long before the son of a bitch landed himself back in jail. Mandy told Ian the day their dad got hauled off, and that night the kid showed up at their door.

“Mandy’s not home,” Mickey said automatically.

“Not here to see Mandy.”

“What do you want, then?”

Ian shrugged, “Came to talk to you.”

Mickey looked up and down his street, but there wasn’t a soul in sight. With a sigh, he pulled the door open enough to let the kid inside. The place was a mess still, but Ian didn’t seem to care. He took a seat on the couch while Mickey grabbed two beers from the fridge. “So what do you want?”

“I want to apologize,” Ian said, taking the offered beer but not drinking. “It was stupid of me to come. Mandy warned me your dad was…”

“A psychopath? Yeah, she did.”

“I was worried about her. About both of you,” Ian shifted the bottle back and forth between his hands. “You get this look in your eyes whenever anyone brings up your dad… I was worried he was going to hurt you. Then I ended up being the reason why he did. I’m sorry, Mick.”

“Whatever, it’s over and done with.” Ian reached for his face, and Mickey jumped back, “The fuck do you think you’re doing?”

“I… your eye,” Ian said sadly. “It looks really bad.”

“I’ve had worse,” Mickey shrugged. Again, Ian reached for his face. Everything in him shouted to flinch away, but he didn’t. Ian’s fingertips brushed gently up his cheek, ghosting over the bruising that surrounded his eye. Mickey tried to ignore the tingling sensation they left in their wake, and the pounding of his heart in his chest.

That had been the first time Ian ever tried to kiss him, and it resulted with him on the ground, and Mickey on the other side of the room. Not that the violent response fazed the guy, Ian was determined as all hell when he wanted to be.

Mickey’s heart pounded in his chest as he stared at Ian, wide-eyed. He knew that he was attracted to the kid, but everything in him was shouting that that feeling was wrong. That he wasn’t _allowed_ to feel anything for a guy. But Ian was staring at him so hungrily, and he just wanted to wipe the knowing look off his damn face.

“Your dad isn’t here,” Ian said softly. “He’s not going to be back here for a long time. What are you so scared of?”

Mickey’s expression darkened at the accusation, and everything else happened in a blur. They were inches apart in mere seconds, Ian pulling Mickey forward by his hips as Mickey pulled Ian’s head down with a hand in his hair. The kiss was filled with desperation. There was nothing soft about it. Nothing gentle, or kind. It was all teeth, and tongue, and raw _need_ that drove them both crazy.

Everything had changed after that. They had fallen together like lost kids trying to fight their way through a crowd. Ian had been Mickey’s safety, his comfort, his way out of the shitty life he’d been doomed to live. The bite of the cold morning air brought him out of his memories, and Mickey angrily wiped the tears from his eyes. Ian made his choice, and it hadn’t been Mickey. He wasn’t that kid anymore; he didn’t look at Mickey with that same hunger and attraction. He was too doped up for that anymore.

With a sigh, Mickey headed not for a hotel, but the only other place he could consider a home: his sister’s house.

* * *

 

Mandy didn’t try to hide the shock when she opened the door that morning. She was already half dressed for work, and Mickey had no doubt he was the last thing she expected to see waiting outside for her. He watched as her eyes took in his disheveled appearance and the bag slung over his shoulder. With a sigh, she leaned against the doorframe and crossed her arms.

“What the fuck happened?” she asked.

Mickey shrugged, “I couldn’t do it anymore Mands. I couldn’t just sit there and wait like a good fuckin’ boyfriend while he fucked god knows who to get a high.”

“It’s Ian,” Mandy said.

“Yeah, I know. I’ve reached the end of my rope.”

She rose an eyebrow, waiting for him to falter. When he didn’t, she deflated a bit. “Shit, seriously?”

“I don’t know how to get through to him. I don’t know how to help him, Mands. I don’t know what I’m supposed to do.” Mandy pulled him into a hug. Normally Mickey would’ve shrugged the affections off, but the warmth of her embrace was incredibly welcoming. He wound his own arms tightly around his sister’s waist, and let out a heavy sigh. “I feel so fuckin’ lost.”

“It’s okay, Mick. You guys have been together since you were kids. You’ve been through a lot together,” she pat his hair gently. “You’re allowed to be sad it’s over.”

“Can I crash here for a bit?” Mickey asked when she pulled away. “I don’t… I don’t know what I’m going to do with the apartment yet. I dunno if I could live there without him, y’know?”

Mandy nodded sadly, “Of course. You can stay here as long as you need.”

* * *

Mickey almost couldn’t believe his eyes when he opened Mandy’s front door to reveal Ian, slumped against the doorframe not two weeks after he left. “The fuck are you doing here?” he spit.

“I need you,” Ian whined. His eyes were bloodshot, and his pupils almost invisible.

“How’d the hell you even know I’d be here?”

Ian rolled his eyes, and when he spoke his words slurred together. “C’mon, Mick. Who the hell else would you turn to?”

“Are you fuckin’ high right now?”

“Mick, I _miss_ you. I shouldn’t have let you go,” Ian said, completely ignoring his question. “I fucking love you.”

Part of Mickey wanted to tell him to fuck off, to say that he should’ve fucking thought about that before he let it get so bad. That he should’ve fucking _fought_ for them. But the more he studied Ian, the worse he looked. Mickey hadn’t seen him so out of it in a long time.

“What the hell did you take?” he spit, roughly tugging him inside and away from any prying eyes. They weren’t in the Southside anymore; people didn’t take too kindly to late-night wake up calls.

Ian just shrugged, slumping against the wall heavily. “I’unno. PCP, coke? Maybe E?”

“You’ve got to be shitting me. How the fuck do you not know what you took?”

Again, Ian shrugged. His eyes were drooping closed. “Didn’t ask,” he said simply.

“Are you fucking retarded?”

“I let you get away, didn’t I?”

“Oh _hell_ no,” Mickey hissed. “Don’t you dare fucking pin this bullshit on me.”

“I _need_ you,” Ian said again, drawing it out even more this time.

“No, you need help. ‘Cause you’ve got a fucking problem, and it’s gonna kill you.”

“I know,” Ian said quietly.

“You what?”

“I know I need help,” he said miserably.

“So you gonna go get yourself some help before it’s too late?”

Ian didn’t answer. His eyes were focused over Mickey’s shoulder, and he began to slide down the wall. Mickey reached out for him instinctively, one arm sliding under Ian’s, the other gripping the fabric of his thin T-Shirt. His skin was ice fucking cold, and Mickey felt his heart pang with concern. He led him to the couch, noticing that even the short trek left Ian breathless. He fell heavily onto the couch, sweat covering his forehead.

“Ian?” Mickey poked his shoulder, trying to get a response from him. When none Iane, panic began rising in Mickey’s throat. “Fuck,” he hissed, “God fucking damnit, Ian.”

Mickey ran for his room, grabbing his phone from where it was charging on the bedside table. He dialed 911 as he rushed back to Ian’s side. When Mickey got there, his eyes were closed. “Fuck,” he hissed, dropping to his knees next to the couch and shaking Ian gently. “Wake up, asshole.”

Finally, thankfully, Ian’s eyes blinked open. At the same time, a female voice Iane from the phone, “911, what’s your emergency?”

“I think… I think my… my boy—my friend is overdosing,” he stuttered.

“What’s your address, sir? I’ll send an ambulance right away.” Mickey rattled off his sister’s address, and listened to the instructions the operator was giving him. It wasn’t anything he didn’t know; wasn’t anything he didn’t experience growing up. He knew he had to keep Ian awake, and that’s exactly what he did.

When the medics arrived, Mickey was quickly pushed to the side. He watched helplessly as they checked various things and lifted Ian onto the gurney. Mickey numbly followed them to the ambulance. Once inside, he grabbed Ian’s hand. It took him a moment to register that one of the EMT’s was talking to him.

“Sorry, what?”

“Do you know what he took?” she asked again.

Mickey shook his head sadly, “He just showed up at my door like this. I don’t… He said it might’ve been Coke, or PCP, or E.”

She nodded, writing down what he said. “Can I ask what your relation to him is?”

“He’s uh… we’re… I’m his partner.”

He half expected her to say something, but she didn’t. Just continued writing, and continued to ask questions Mickey was glad to know the answer to. When they reached the hospital he was told to wait, that’d they’d come and get him when Ian was stable. So Mickey sat in one of the uncomfortable chairs and thought about the fact that the last words he’d said to Ian had been filled with hatred. He wanted to puke. 

* * *

 

It was well past two in the morning when a doctor finally appeared at the entrance to the ER. Mickey stood instinctively, and rushed to the man. “You must be Mickey.”

“Is he okay?” he asked. “Can I see him?”

“He’s sleeping, but he’ll be fine.” The Doctor led him down the hall to a room with six beds. Ian’s was closest to the window, one of the few beds actually occupied. Mickey sat gingerly in the chair next to the bed, taking Ian’s hand in his own.

“Fuck, Ian,” he whispered into the room. “Why the fuck did you do this to yourself?”

Mickey didn’t know how long it was before Ian’s eyes finally blinked open, but when they did it was light a weight had been lifted from his chest. Ian looked around the room, taking in where he was before his eyes landed on Mickey. “Mick?” he asked quietly, voice hoarse. “What happened?”

“You OD’d,” Mickey said.

“Fuck.”

“You need help,” Mickey said quietly.

“I’m scared,” Ian said, grip on Mickey’s hand tightening.

“Why?” he asked. “The hell is scarier than OD-ing again? What if I’m not there next time? What if next time it’s some alleyway or backroom?”

Ian closed his eyes, a pained look on his face. “I’m scared I won’t feel anything anymore,” he admitted. “Without the drugs, without you…”

“Ian…” Mickey sighed.

“No, it’s not—I’m not saying it’s your fault, Mick,” Ian said quickly. “I don’t blame you for leaving. I wish you wouldn’t have, but I know it’s my own fucking fault.”

“I still love you, Ian, and if you want to get help I’ll be there for you through it,” Mickey said quietly. “I just… I can’t be with you right now. Not like that.”

“I know,” Ian smiled, lifting Mickey’s hand to his dry lips. He pressed a weak kiss to his knuckles. “I had to fight for you to be with me the first time, I’ll just have to do it again.”

Mickey couldn’t help but smile. “You gotta take care of yourself first. Figure your shit out, then we’ll see about figuring our shit out.”

“You’ve got a deal.”


End file.
